Jonathan Sims

Martin could almost feel guilty, the way John hesitates and seems to address the question with something approaching reluctance. Entrapment isn't really his intention so much as just making sure the promise of a massage does not get lost in the shuffle — or that he doesn't bother to give John his much-needed comfort before springing questions on him. But the bewilderment is funny enough to keep him on task, confirming that John either hasn't realized his approach to this whole situation was rather... unique, or has forgotten it himself.

"I was just wondering," Martin says, grunting softly as he presses the heels of his hands into the wiry meat of John's shoulders, "what it was, exactly, about me behaving like an idiot that made you want to... all that." He lets up again, not wanting to make the answering more difficult than it needs to be. "Not that I don't appreciate the reassurance, but it was... a bit more than that." He can't resist a bit of mischief sneaking into his voice and his grin when he adds lightly, "What, does me being a prat do it for you? Suppose I could play the part more often if you like."